


Chocolate

by SharkAria



Series: Dogs Don't Eat Chocolate [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Courtship, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 14:29:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17102339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkAria/pseuds/SharkAria
Summary: Gather ‘round, children, and I’ll entertain you with a tale of clever maidens and chivalrous men.





	Chocolate

Gather ‘round, children, and I’ll entertain you with a tale of clever maidens and chivalrous men. Young Eddor, why do you titter? Think you can make fun of my stories without my notice? It’s my eyes that are weak, not my ears, young man, and I can hear your little jokes with your friends. Hush now. I’ll not have your voice interrupting mine.

This story comes from before even your grandfathers were born, back when my own great-grandmother lived in Drogon's Cove. Don't laugh, little Joanna, for the Cove wasn't the tiny port surrounded by ruins that it is today. Back then -- that is, back before those Targaryen dragons burnt it to the ground -- it was a great city, the seat of power for all of Westeros. It was known as King's Landing, and my great-great-grandmother served as a kitchen wench in the strongest castle on the continent, the Red Keep. She saw everything with her own eyes, and she passed the story to her daughter, who passed it to my grandmother, who passed it on to me.

But I’ve been blown off course. Gaela, throw another log on the fire. My toes grow cold on these long Northern nights. There’s a good girl. Now I’ll tell what I know. 

In the waning days of the Long Summer, the kingdom was ruled for a short time by a petty tyrant that none of you have ever heard of, for everyone in the land wanted to forget his brief bloody reign as soon as it ended. His name was King Joffrey. 

The king had yellow hair and dead green eyes and a thirst for unearned obeisance from his subjects. The only thing to recommend this brat was his betrothal to none other than Sansa Stark. 

Ah, there go your eyes popping out of your heads at that name. Thought this would be a silly children’s story, did you? Didn’t think I would bring the Savior of the North into this, young Eddor's very own kinswoman? Listen on, children, for there is much of the great Lady Sansa's life which you do not know.

Young Sansa was just as the legends say, even in her youth. Beautiful, clever, fiercely and loyally Northern -- she was all of these things then, but she was also scared. Yes, she who outsmarted the traitorous Littlefinger, she who rebuilt the Eyrie, she who slew the Giant of Snow before the gates of Winterfell -- she was terrified of evil King Joffrey, the youth she was supposed to marry.

One day at court, not so long after Sansa’s father, the Warden of the North, had been cut down through the treacherous machinations of the deceptive Littlefinger, King Joffrey was listening to the pleas of his visitors -- if listening is what you could call it, for in truth he was admiring the fine lacquer of the crossbow on his lap, wishing he could shoot arrows at his audience.

“Ahem, Your Grace,” the simpering Maester Pycelle called out to the King from down on the main floor of the great hall. “Do you have an answer for Xhobar Qo?”

“Who?” King Joffrey yawned, for he had been holding court for a very long time, and his weak back was growing sore from slouching against the unforgiving Iron Throne.

“The, er, dignitary from the Summer Isles, Your Grace,” stuttered Pycelle. “Standing before you now.” The maester gestured to a tall man wore a red and yellow feathered cape and fine silk clothing. The man’s skin was dark brown and his black hair was cropped short against his scalp. 

“Repeat your question, Qo,” King Joffrey demanded of the foreign visitor.

“Of course, Your Grace,” said Qo, as if the wretched king hadn’t just gravely insulted him. “My own sovereign, the wise and fair Princess Xaqaya of Walano, wishes to establish trade between her great realm and yours. We desire linen and steel from Westeros, for which we hope to exchange some of our renowned hardwoods, spices, pearls --”

“Gold?” King Joffrey interrupted. He thought he was being clever, having recently been informed by the Small Council of the crown’s sea of debt.

Qo’s expression froze for a fraction of a second, but the man hadn’t become a competent ambassador by letting idiot rulers discern his opinion of them. He raised his shoulders and gave an apologetic smile. “Sadly, Your Grace, the Summer Isles are not blessed with the fortunes of Casterly Rock,” he answered silkily, as if he didn’t know that those riches were being shipped directly to the Iron Bank to pay back obscenely large loans. “But Princess Xaqaya sent this gift from our shores that many agree is more valuable than any precious metal.” Qo gestured to a servant standing behind him, who walked forward with a carved wooden box. “It is one of many goods we hope to trade with you.”

King Joffrey rolled his eyes and huffed, sticking his pointy nose in the air. “Very well. Give it to my Kingsguard there. He will present it to me so that I may observe this . . . treasure.” He looked over to his foul mother Queen Cersei, who sat on a gilded chair a few paces away from the throne. Under his breath, he muttered to her, “If it’s not as wondrous as this man says, I’ll have him gutted for the crime of exaggerating to the King.”

The Queen, bedecked in a glittery red gown, gave her vile son a forced smile. Cersei was just as malevolent as the King, but she wasn’t quite as stupid. “The people of the Summer Isles have strong ships and able fighters,” she murmured to him. “If you’re displeased by their offering, perhaps you can find another way to manage your disappointment.”

Though he hated being told what to do by his mother, King Joffrey snickered at her suggestion, for he had no shortage of ways to manage his disappointment. He looked out over the crowd and caught the eye of his betrothed, our own beloved Sansa Stark, who shrunk against a column under his gaze. “I’m sure I can,” he growled to himself. “Hound, show me what’s in the box.”

The Hound -- ah, but you children may not know of whom I speak. That was the horrible name they used for Eddor’s ancestor, Sandor Clegane, when he was a member of King Joffrey’s Kingsguard, long before he performed many heroic deeds during the Age of Winter. Clegane stomped up to the side of the throne, holding the box that the Summer Isle dignitary’s servant had given him. He snapped open the lid and, in spite of his affected indifference, couldn’t help but take a peek as he presented it to the king. Nestled in the folds of a silk napkin was a thick brown block that smelled spicy and sweet and bitter all at once.

“What in the Seven Hells is this supposed to be?” King Joffrey whispered to Clegane, for the king did not wish to appear unknowledgeable in front of the foreigners.

Clegane was just as confused by the strange, fragrant gift. “Looks like a brick of fine-pressed shit to me,” he answered in a low voice. He wrinkled his nose. “Smells like one, too.”

By this time Queen Cersei had slithered up to the side of the throne to investigate the prize. “It’s a food of some sort,” she stated quietly. “Get the taster,” she told her attendant, more loudly.

“Is the gift to your liking, Your Grace?” called Qo from the steps far below.

King Joffrey snorted. “My dog says it smells like dung,” he replied loudly, much to Queen Cersei’s consternation. “The Queen thinks we should make sure it’s not poisoned.”

The courtiers tittered, and Qo’s nostrils flared, for even a dignitary as skilled as he could not hide his contempt for King Joffrey at that moment. 

“Call off the taster,” the king said. He glared in the direction of the column at the rear of the chambers where he his favorite victim quailed. “My Lady Sansa, come partake of the generous gift from Princess Xawalo,” he said, neither realizing nor caring that he had bungled the royal name.

Queen Cersei dug her sharp fingernails into the fabric of her sleeves, but she dared not speak against her idiot son publicly. 

Clegane, still standing close to the king, clenched his jaw and willed his scarred face to remain blank in spite of his sudden fear for Sansa’s safety. No one, not even Sansa, then knew of his secret affection for her. He glared at the Summer Islanders below, hoping that they didn’t have as much reason to poison the king as most of Westeros did, but he could discern nothing from Qo’s expression.

The crowd parted for Sansa as she made her way to the foot of the steps leading to the throne. Her legs trembled beneath the skirts of her fine gown as she curtseyed, but her voice stayed steady as she said, “I am eager to serve you, Your Grace.”

“Then stop groveling and try this -- this -- “ King Joffrey’s lips flattened into a thin angry line. “Qo, what do you call this?”

“Chocolate, Your Grace,” responded the now quite frustrated and flustered Summer Islander, who was inwardly cursing himself for pursuing this ill-considered partnership with the surly Westerosi king. 

Sansa, for her part, treaded carefully up the stairs. She edged around Queen Cersei and soon stood before King Joffrey. “What would you have of me, Your Grace?” she asked, her stomach churning.

King Joffrey narrowed his eyes in hatred. “Eat the chocolate,” he ordered icily. And then, in a hushed voice he added, “If it doesn’t kill you, I’ll consider Qo’s trade proposal. But since you’re a useless traitor, I rather hope it does.”

“It’s my honor to serve you, Your Grace,” Sansa choked out.

She turned toward Clegane, who stood close beside her, and she looked up at him, as she had done once before when he’d draped his white cloak over her bare bruised shoulders. She found a fiery rage in his eyes, but to her surprise she saw that her presence was not feeding the flames. Somehow, she knew at that moment that Clegane shared her hatred of Joffrey.

“What are you waiting for? Eat it,” urged the king.

Sansa didn’t dare delay any longer. She reached into the box, broke a corner from the brick of chocolate, and placed it on her tongue. She gazed back into Clegane’s face, having decided that if she were to die from poison, she would do so gazing into the eyes of someone who despised Joffrey as much as she did. Her fear absorbed her mind so completely that she didn’t hear the king addressing her.

Clegane nudged her elbow and jerked his chin slightly in the direction of the throne.

“Imbecile!” Joffrey was cursing. “I said, how does it taste?”

Sansa blinked and noticed that she was still staring at Clegane, and she remembered that she still possessed a tongue. The chocolate was melting in her mouth with a sweet, pleasing, delicate flavor. She crunched down and swallowed and couldn’t help but smile brightly at Qo. “It’s delicious, Your Grace,” she said to the king, bringing her gaze to the floor.

“Well, we won’t waste any more of it on you, then,” proclaimed the wicked king. “Leave my sight. Hound, bring it here for me to try.”

Clegane brushed past Sansa as she retreated down the steps, and King Joffrey broke off a hunk of chocolate to stuff into his mouth. His eyes popped open in delight as he tasted it. “Qo has spoken true. This chocolate is more precious than gold.”

Qo was smiling again, and he said, relieved, “There’s more where that came from. My Princess bade me to bring many casks to honor you.”

“As she should,” King Joffrey replied. “Have the casks brought to the kitchens, and we shall serve it to all of my _loyal_ subjects at tonight’s feast.”

Sansa, who had by now hidden herself at the back of chambers again, didn’t need to consult Joffrey to know that “loyal subjects” didn’t include _her_.

Eddor, nudge little Joanna back this way. She’s nodded off and she’ll fall into the fire if she leans over too far. I see that you and Gaela and Ellyn are still awake, though. This isn’t such a boring story after all, now, is it? Don’t answer that. I hear you three chattering all day long; now it’s my turn to talk. On with the story.

That night, King Joffrey enjoyed feeling like a generous, cultured leader and host, in spite of the fact that he would never be any of those things. He honored Qo with a place the head table, though in truth, few envied the dignitary’s seat next to the drunken Queen Cersei. The king forbade the kitchen wenches from serving any of the prized chocolate to Sansa or the other courtiers who had fallen out of his favor.

As the guests got deep into their cups and the evening’s innocent entertainment of jugglers and magicians gave way to bawdy singers and tumblers, Sansa excused herself quietly. The Seven must have been with her, for no one noticed her leave.

No one, of course, but Sandor Clegane. He watched her from his place with other warriors at a lower table, and his eyes followed her form as she slipped past the elegant wall tapestries and out the door at the rear of the chamber. Clegane didn’t excuse himself, of course. He just got up and left.

He saw Sansa hurrying down the main passageway that led past the kitchens and to her tower. Without daring to think too much lest he lose his nerve, he took a shortcut through a narrow hall.

“Oh!” Sansa gasped as she stumbled into Clegane’s enormous form when their two paths crossed. “You --” she nearly said that he scared her, but that wasn’t true. Now that she knew of their secret shared animosity toward the King, she felt only relief in his presence. “-- it’s you,” she finished.

“Disappointed?” Clegane grumbled darkly, for in those days he was tormented with the belief that Sansa and everyone else loathed him.

Sansa pressed her lips into a thin line. “No. I feared that someone had come to take me back to the feast, so that King Joffrey could . . .” she trailed off as she noticed Clegane’s hard expression in the flickering torchlight, worrying that she had misread his eyes earlier. “You won’t take me back there, will you?” she whispered.

Clegane laughed bitterly. “Not another soul in that room noticed that you left. You’re safe for tonight, little bird.”

A smile spread across Sansa’s face. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.” She clasped her hands in front of her and stood waiting. She expected Clegane to guide her back to her suite, as he had done on other occasions when she had run across him at night. But when he didn’t move, a deep blush crept up her face. She turned away and said, “Well, I bid you good --”

“Wait.” Clegane grasped her shoulder to keep her from flitting away. “Was the chocolate as delicious as you said?”

Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed. “Yes,” she said. “Didn’t the king serve you --” she held her tongue. She knew Joffrey could be capricious with anyone and everyone, and she wouldn’t have put it past the king to slight even his most trusted servants.

Clegane nodded and stared at the floor. His hand slipped down to Sansa’s elbow. “He did. Had a great big piece sent down to me as a reward for my loyalty.” He spat out the last word as if it disgusted him.

Sansa didn’t notice, for her mouth watered just remembering the wonderful taste. “Didn’t you try it?”

“A dog doesn’t need sweets.” He fumbled with a pouch at his belt and extracted what was evidently his untouched piece of chocolate. “But if you liked it, you can have mine.” He shrugged as though it made no difference to him. He thrust his palm toward Sansa and looked up at the rafters.

Sansa raised an eyebrow as she reached out to accept the gift, and as she did her fingertips brushed his palm. “Thank you.” She took a careful bite, then offered the remaining morsel to Clegane. “Please, it has a taste without compare.”

“No. It’s all for you,” he said as if he was referring to the chocolate, although of course we all know now that he was talking about his heart. 

And as you all know, he did pledge his heart to her, years later, in front of the old gods and the new, after he extracted her from the Vale and fought by her side in the North and drove off the White Walkers for good, but those are other stories for other nights.

What’s that you say, Eddor? 

No, Clegane never did acquire a taste for chocolate, or at least he said he didn’t. I think he never had the chance to try it. He always gave it to his beloved Sansa.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you friends for reading! Happy SanSanSecretSanta and Happy Sevenmas!!!!!


End file.
